Jane and the Genius of the Place: Being the Fourth Jane Austen Mystery (41 page)

“—Mr. Grey has
also
chosen to identify as the Comte's.”

“—which matches the writing on this scrap of paper, Jane,” Neddie persisted patiently, “given to me by the Comte. It bears the direction of his inn at Dover, the Royal.”

“Very well. The Comte has chosen to style himself 'H,' and speak only of millinery to his ladylove. I suppose there are histories recorded that are yet more extraordinary. We must assume it is a sort of code.”

“Pray examine the letters yourself, Jane, and attempt to form an opinion. I shall be greatiy in your debt.”

“Do not deceive yourself, Neddie. It is /who am under the greatest obligation. I have not been so diverted by a puzzle since the weeks before our father's death; and I make no apology for profiting so grossly by Mrs. Grey's murder. This will be the first disinterested service she has rendered to anyone, in life or death.”

T
WO FULL HOURS WERE REQUIRED FOR THE REVIEW OF
the correspondence. It was a tedious business; the Comte—our duplicitous “H”—was possessed of a fiendish hand, very nearly indecipherable. The elegance of his phrasing further confounded his despoilers; we were at pains to untangle the ravishing verbs from their dependent clauses, and must own to a headache after only a part of our work was done. But it proved, in the main, to be as Neddie had said—repeated discussions of lace and wool, and the most efficacious arrangements for the procuring of each. On rare occasions, the Comte commended his Francoise for her management of this friend or that—
I am pleased to observe the progress you have made in securing the affection of Mr. Collingforth
, for example; or, more interesting still,
Captain Woodford appears unsuited to his task; I would suggest you discourage his visits.
And gradually, about the month of June, another name crept into the letters: that of Julian Sothey.

Mr. Sothey's interest in your well-being must always ensure him a warm place in my heart…. Mr. Sothey is possessed of a peculiar aptitude for gossip. I was charmed by your report of his conversation with Lady Forbes…. Mr. Sothey's influence with your husband might do much towards the securing of our lace. Pray exert your charms towards this end
, ma chere Frangoise,
for it appears that your own influence with the gentleman is limited.

Mr. Sothey, it seemed, had been a gratifying tool in Mrs. Grey's hands. How useful the Gendeman Improver should be, to a woman of her inclination! He knew everyone, and was welcome everywhere; he overheard the counsels of the Great at their very dinner tables. Where Mrs. Grey's sex and very foreignness should be a bar to a certain sort of male intimacy, Mr. Sothey was trusted and admired by the men of his acquaintance; before
him
, they should always be open. Had he understood, at last, that he was being worked upon—and confronted Mrs. Grey at the Canterbury Races? Was this the break that had sparked the lady's fury?

“Neddie,” I said abruptly, “pray consider the phrases I have translated. They are drawn from several of the Comte's letters, despatched during the course of June and July. I do not doubt that we shall discover more such, in the month of August.”

He read them, and a frown gathered on his brow. “Do you suppose Sothey to have been aware of the delicacy of the information he conveyed? Or that Mrs. Grey intended to use him against her own husband?”

“I cannot undertake to say. A man in the grip of infatuation, might do anything to win the favour of his lady; he might offer her the dearest intelligence, without a second thought as to the wisdom of the impulse. And, too, we know so litde of Mrs. Grey herself—how subde her manipulation may have been, and how patiendy effected, week by week.”

“But can Grey have been blind to such a passion in his friend, or its consequences? Is it possible he should overlook Sothey's attempts to influence himself?”

“We rarely suspect a friend of the heart—a man whose integrity and opinion we esteem—of employing our affections for particular ends,” I observed. “It requires a doubt of intimacy, to reveal the snake.”

“That should make Sothey's betrayal all the more abhorrent.” Neddie considered a moment in silence. “But perhaps we read too much into these words, Jane. Sothey might be worked upon from any number of causes. He may have cared nothing for Francoise Grey— but possessed as ruinous a taste for gaming as his father. That should easily place him in her power.”

“It should not be surprising,” I agreed. “Such things are said to run in the blood. But what was he intended to procure, Neddie?”

“Gossip?”

“His charm and brilliance—his inclination for discourse—and the ease with which he moved among the houses of the Great, should provide him with a considerable fund of knowledge. But that appears to have been the least of his talents. He is specifically intended by the Comte to secure some Spanish lace, and arguably from Mr. Grey.”

“But what is the lace intended to signify?”

“Money, Neddie,” I replied with decision. “Recall what Henry has suspected, and what the Comte himself has said. Grey has a scheme under consideration, that must encompass the great banking houses of Europe; it is the only way in which Mr. Sothey might be of use to Penfleur.”

“But was not the Comte already Grey's partner in a Continental concern?” my brother protested, bewildered. “Why should he have need of subterfuge?”

“Because the intended use of the funds, my dear, should ruin Mr. Grey were it suspected. He should be accused of treason, or worse; and until the funds are secured, he must never be allowed to suspect the gravity of his betrayal.”

My brother whisded. “You suspect that Grey is to bankroll Buonaparte's invasion of England?”

“I can think of nothing else that should require such delicacy of arrangement and preparation. Only consider, Neddie—Francoise Grey was forced into a loveless marriage, for the express purpose of winning her husband's resources. Let us hope that she eventually failed—and was murdered as a result.”

“And if she succeeded?” A fine beading of sweat stood out on my brother's brow. “What then, for Grey and the security of the Kingdom?”

“That is a question,” I said drily, “that I suspect you must put to Mr. Grey.”

M
Y BROTHER MIGHT HAVE MOUNTED HIS HORSE AT THAT
very moment, and ridden off in the direction of The Larches, had he not been prevented by the appearance of the Gendeman Improver. As it was, he was forced to be content with a hastily-scrawled note, despatched by messenger to Valentine Grey, that required that gendeman's presence at dinner—or if the banker were otherwise engaged, for coffee afterwards.

It was hardly Mr. Sothey's fault that he thus interrupted our counsels at a most inauspicious moment. He had arrived in good time—at a quarter past one o'clock— and looked so delighted at the prospect of his visit, that I could hardly believe him capable of a conscious deceit. He was elegandy dressed, and as cool in his appearance as tho' the short ride had no power to discomfit him; praised everything from the plasterwork in the hall, to the arrangement of the rooms, and would stay within doors only long enough to pay his respects to Lizzy, before proposing that we should all walk out and survey the grounds.

To my surprise and delight, Mr. Emilious Finch-Hatton had ridden over from Eastwell in company with the improver.

“Miss Austen!” he cried, bending low over my hand, “it is a pleasure to see you again. I have had a letter from our mutual friend, that would not delay of its communication to you; and so I have imposed upon Sothey and yourselves, in presuming to invite myself to dinner.”

'You will always be welcome, sir, as I believe you know.” We were awaiting Lizzy's appearance on the stairs, in stout boots better suited to walking than the slippers she had sported all morning, before crossing the Stour. Mr. Sothey had judged the prospect from the Doric temple's height ideally suited to an initial survey of the grounds; and there we should commence our tour. “Lord Harold is well?”

“He is as well as any man may be, who has been denied a glimpse of his native shores for six months together. He found success in Austria, I understand—the Hapsburgs will stand with England and Russia—and is presently embarked for Amsterdam.”
2

“Amsterdam?” I echoed. “As Mr. Pitt's personal envoy, perhaps?”

“I believe Lord Harold presendy enjoys that honour.”

“Then he is charged with the thankless task of persuading a Scots banker to lend, where all confidence is lacking.” Unless, I thought, Trowbridge is too late— and Mr. Grey's funds have already rescued the French crown.

'You have been reading the
Times
, I see,” Mr. Emilious observed with a twinkle. “You may soon discover some interesting items in its columns, I believe—but I shall say no more, at present.”

We had been walking all this while to the end of the sweep; had passed the lodge, crossed the Canterbury road, and were fetched up at the little foot-bridge over the Stour.
3
The tedious uphill climb to achieve the temple next engrossed our attention, and Mr. Emilious—being better suited to the consumption of an elegant meal, than the scaling of more Picturesque heights—could hardly be expected to spare breath for my amusement.

“Capital!” Mr. Sothey cried, his face aglow. He stood under the temple's portico next to my brother, who was also flushed with the exercise. Lizzy had adopted a chair. “The house is nobly positioned between this rise of the downs and the hills against its back; and with the Stour bisecting the narrow valley, it is a most bucolic scene. That cottage away to the right, with the road winding up to it, is a dependent's?”

“It belongs to the gamekeeper,” Neddie said, “for the deer park runs up through the far downs; and that building behind die house, midway up die slope, is the ice house.”

Tour farmland is where?”

“To die south.”

“I see. Adjacent to the church?”

“Just so.”

“That avenue, I collect, is your usual path to Sunday service?”

“We have traversed it already twice today.”

Mr. Sothey shaded his eyes with one hand against the slanting light of the westering sun, and turned first north and then south, towards Chilham Castle. “It is remarkable, however, how litde space was accorded the pleasure gardens, given the expanse of the park, and the commodious impression afforded by the rising ground. It is unfortunate that the river runs so close to the road, and the road so near to the gatekeeper's lodge. There is an impression of confinement, of claustration, at that end of the estate, that is most unfortunate. The garden paths running down to the limes only increase that sensation, if you will observe; for they are without exception unvaryingly straight, and must serve as boundaries rather than avenues of escape.”

Neddie's eyes narrowed, and his lips compressed.

“I rather wonder at the original builder's intent,” Mr. Sothey mused, “in placing the house at right angles to the river and the road.”

“Perhaps he found a southern exposure, and the prospect of the downs and the church, more pleasant than that of the highway,” Neddie said tartly.

“Perhaps—but as you see, it increases the crowding of the sweep and the lodge immeasurably. Those are kitchen gardens, I suppose?” Mr. Sothey gestured towards two enclosures at the north end of Bentigh.

“They are,” Neddie replied. “An estate cannot hope to function without them. They have served us amply for more years than you can claim, Mr. Sothey.” There was a faint note of belligerence in his tone, as tho' the improver's observations were felt as a personal attack.

“My dear sir,” Mr. Sothey said swifdy, “you must not take it amiss if I prod and prick your sensibilities here and there. It is always difficult to work against the force of habit; we are creatures of convention, as you very well know, and despise the merest hint of change. It is essential, however, to comprehend the daily employment of these grounds, and the manner in which the work of the estate might be improved, and made compatible with its visual delights. I shall demand to know a great deal from the kitchen maids—how often they use certain paths, where the villagers are wont to trespass, and whither the Austen ladies delight in roaming, in the pursuit of exercise. All this must be understood, before anything of improvement may be achieved.”

“And so the genius of our place is a kitchen maid?” I enquired, amused. “I tremble to think what might occur, if the nursemaid is not appeased!”

Mr. Sothey threw back his head and laughed. His remarkable auburn locks rippled in the sun; and I was struck at once by the vigour and openness of his looks— he might have been Gabriel, surveying the Lord's kingdom. “I should have said the
genie
of Godmersham was Demeter, Miss Austen—the drowsing hum of the birds among the grain speaks only of harvest to my ears; but we shall know better with time. Perhaps the resident spirit is one of water, and sings through the stones of the Stour; or perhaps it wanders among the lime trees, plaiting violets in its hair.”

“Then pray take care you do not destroy its natural haunt,” Neddie broke in.

“Heaven forbid!” Mr. Sothey cried. “I cannot think that
destruction
is the wisest approach to Art. You are happy, Mr. Austen, in the possession of an estate where natural beauty and a wise hand have achieved much; the essentials of the place are so good, that a very little effort may offer considerable rewards.”

Neddie did not look appeased; there was a stiffness to his demeanour, and a caution in his air, that argued opposition to anything Mr. Sothey might counsel.

“I should like to sketch the approach from the Stour,” Mr. Sothey said with decision, “and then ascend to the ice house. We might profitably traverse the garden paths afterwards, and examine the avenue of lime trees. They are of considerable age, if I do not mistake?”

“Indeed,” Neddie replied, “and are regarded with affection by most of the populace.”

Happily, Mr. Sothey was too litde intimate with my brother to read his humours in his looks; Lizzy and I were not so fortunate.